


Sefa, the Publican

by Dassandre



Series: The Hole and Corner [4]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Career Change, Career Ending Injuries, Character Study, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-08
Updated: 2020-07-08
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:14:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25151437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dassandre/pseuds/Dassandre
Summary: “We think you could be quite an asset.”“To whom?”“Queen and Country.”  She nodded at the card.  “Ring us. I think you’ll find it just the right opportunity.”
Relationships: Q & Original Female Character
Series: The Hole and Corner [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1558699
Comments: 6
Kudos: 47





	Sefa, the Publican

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Boffin1710](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Boffin1710/gifts), [AsheTarasovich (natalieashe)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/natalieashe/gifts), [soufflegirl91](https://archiveofourown.org/users/soufflegirl91/gifts).



> This is part of the series "The Hole and Corner" which focuses on a pub of the same name. This pub is the best-kept secret in London. Literally. The only ones who know about it are those who work for MI6. It is *their* pub. It's a place where they can safely relax and talk without always having to watch their back. Some chapters focus on characters we already know. Other chapters, like this one, center around original characters who help "flesh out" the entire pub experience.
> 
> This chapter fulfills a collaborative prompt square for 007Fest. Soufflegirl91 asked to learn more about The Hole and Corner's publican, Sefa, who was introduced in the first part of this series, "The Pub." I hope it meets her expectations.
> 
> At the bottom of the story, you will find original art of Sefa as conceived by one of my partners in writing crime, AsheTarasovich. He is a bloody talented bloke, and his rendering of Sefa is more than I could have ever imagined. Ta, ever so, Ashe!
> 
> Comments are love. So I do hope you'll let me know what you think.
> 
> Enjoy!

It started with a tap on my shoulder as I was leaving my lecture in Bedford Square one afternoon during my final term in Uni. I recognised her from a few of my courses, but we’d never worked together. Didn’t even know her name. She was a few years older than I. Ginger. Petite. Big green eyes. Gorgeous mouth. I remember thinking I could suck on her bottom lip for hours and be perfectly happy.

I smiled. So did she.

“You see things most of the other students don’t,” she said. 

I started.  _ So _ n,t what I was expecting her to say. 

“You’ve always grasped the content faster than the rest of them. Have a talent for seeing through the lies and half-truths the politicians love to spin. It’s why your professors practically scramble to work with you. Each wants you as their  protégé . And then there’s your natural skill with languages: French, Spanish, Mandarin, Russian, and Czech.”

“You forgot Klingon,” I snapped, unsettled that she knew so much about me. 

Her smile grew. “Sense of humour, too. And you know how to take care of yourself. You did well against those men in Prague last year.”

The fuck?! A year abroad was part of my degree in Politics and International Relations. I’d been in Brussels, studying the European Union’s public policy but had gone to Prague on holiday. Had been set upon by three men as I was leaving a club. 

“They thought we should party privately,” I replied cautiously, squaring my stance. “I disagreed.”

“Put two of them in hospital.” 

“They deserved it.” 

“Muay Thai. Black armband.”

“Black and red, actually.” It was the first thing she had got wrong, but it had only been conferred on me the night before. Clearly whoever supplied her information was a tad behind the times. It didn’t matter. “Who the fuck are you?!”

“An interested party.”

“Interested in whom?”

“You, Sefa.” She held out a business card. I took it on instinct. “We think you could be quite an asset.”

“To whom?”

“Queen and Country.” She nodded at the card. “Ring us. I think you’ll find it just the right opportunity.” I glanced down at the card. There was a number but no name. When I looked back up, she was gone, absorbed by the foot traffic outside the British Museum.

The fuck?

Though annoyed, I wasn’t left afraid by the encounter. Rather, I was intrigued.

Of course, I called the number.

It was exhausting work, making my way through the ranks from trainee to junior agent. I was taught every skill imaginable from deep water survival to ballroom dance. I learned to seduce without being caught up in it myself and how to drive at any speed on any terrain. I mastered the art of disguise and how to assume false identities, erasing all traces of my own personality. I perfected the languages I already knew and added another, Korean. There were computer hacking and surveillance techniques, and, of course, the weapons. So  _ many  _ weapons. Firearms of every kind. Ranged and close combat weaponry as well as learning how to fashion one from whatever might be close at hand. 

Eventually, I became a Senior Intelligence Officer for MI6. Took bloody years, and I was damn proud of myself.

I was a good field agent. Some said exceptional. Had a natural instinct for it. The Ginger was right about that. I could blend in and make myself at home in a small village in Uganda or turn heads in a ballroom in Milan. Whatever the operation called for. 

And I loved every minute of it.

No.

That’s a lie.

The leeches in Madagascar. Christ. No! Pulled 97 of them off me during that trek through the jungle getting the asset to safety. Still have nightmares from that assignment.

And the children. There’s a special place in Hell for sex traffickers -- especially ones who abuse children -- I sent more than one of them there myself.

No. I didn’t love every minute of it. Better to say I  _ valued _ every minute of it. 

After seven years in the field as an SIO, there is much I wish I could unsee. Much I wish I didn’t know. And far too much I wish I didn’t have to do.

But I made a difference.

Until I didn’t.

Contrary to what the arseholes in Psych believe, the less said about the Dodoma mission, the better. The cockup was entirely mine. Had trouble reading my contact from the first. A rarity. I should’ve trusted my instincts and walked away, but the intel was vital. Or so we believed. In the end, however, there was no information. No trail to follow to the guerilla cell targeting British mining interests. Only a trap. The cell itself.

And three weeks of torture.

Q -- he was R, then -- still won’t tell me what he said to convince M I was worth the risk and the resources to rescue once they found out I was still alive. Why I was worth getting out. But they came for me -- 002 and 009 -- leaving a trail of guerilla corpses in their wake and brought me home. 

What was left of me, anyway.

I woke up in Medical ten days later. They managed to save half of my right hand. Plastic surgery erased the scars from all but the deepest wounds on my face and chest and arms. The broken bones healed, though my right hip will never be the same. Months of physical therapy made me stronger, but I’d never work in the field again. Even if I managed to regain my full strength, I was now too …  _ distinctive  _ for covert operations. My career as a Senior Intelligence Officer was over. Any shot of becoming a Double-O -- and there had been talk -- gone forever.

I couldn’t imagine leaving Six for a job in the ‘real’ world, but what was I to do? The thought of sitting at a desk all day appalled me. Though I had been exceptional as an analyst during my training, I’d found the work claustrophobic and tedious. It would be even more so after nearly a decade in the field. 

“You’re skilled in hacking computer systems. I could talk to the Major. Come work with us,” R (Q) suggested. But there’s a difference between being ‘skilled’ at hacking and the feats of technological wizardry R’s acolytes were regularly pulling off in TSS and R&D. I would never measure up. I declined his kind offer.

Though it sometimes felt I was barely able to care for myself let alone wet-behind-the-ear 20-somethings, I was starting to give serious consideration to Villiers’ suggestion that I help train new recruits when ‘the right opportunity’ presented itself yet again.

Like it had years before, it started with a tap on my shoulder, this time as I limped out of Six’s locker room showers after a particularly hellish physical therapy session. I knew her name  _ very  _ well now, though we’d never managed to work together. She was still a ginger with big, green eyes made bigger with the pair of spectacles she wore these days. She wore track pants and a tight tank top. Bloody gorgeous mouth that I knew even better than my own.

I smiled. So did she.

“M wants to see you.” 

I started.  _ So _ not what I was expecting her to say. With the exception of a courtesy appearance in Medical once I was coherent for more than two minutes at a time, M had largely ignored me.

“Why?”

“Don’t know. Just that she wants you in her office five minutes ago.”

I turned for my locker, but she caught me by the wrist before I got too far. Ran her hand along my arm to my neck, tucking a loose braid behind my ear. “Find me after. Let me know what she says. I think she has big plans for you.”

I nodded, smiled, and leaned down to kiss her. Four years together, and I could still happily suck on her bottom lip for hours on end. “God, I love your mouth,” I murmured against it before we parted. 

She smacked my towel-covered arse before she walked away. “It and I are all yours tonight,” she said over her shoulder. “Good luck, love.”

My meeting with M was extremely brief -- they always are unless you’re an agent going out on assignment -- but ultimately no less life-changing than the first one I’d had with her nearly a decade ago after I’d finished my initial training. With one, long assessing look and a conversation of about 10 minutes, she stripped me down to my most basic components and shipped me off to my first assignment in Tunis. One thing about M, she might be as cuddly as a porcupine in an electrical storm, but she knows her people. Knows our skills and how to apply them to the best effect for the benefit of the service.

Which is why 20 minutes after I left her office I found myself standing in the middle of The Hole and Corner caught in the embrace of the publican, Maldyn Jones. 

“Sefa, my darling! Let’s have a look at you!” Mal held me out at arm’s length and gave me the once over. “Well, from the looks of it, you definitely gave Medical a run for their money, but it seems they put you back together reasonably well.” If anyone else had said it, I’d have laid them flat on their arse and put my knife to their throat to drive the point home. Even with my crippled body, I could still fight better than the average person on the street. But this was Mal. He always spoke his mind but was never driven by malice or pity. He  _ noticed _ , thought about what he saw, and imparted his observations. That was his way. I’d always respected and appreciated that. Most of us did.

I chuckled in response. “Yeah, and now it feels like the demons they have running the rehabilitation department are trying to pull it all apart.”

Mal guided me to a comfortable chair in front of one of the fireplaces. Once we were settled, a platter of nibbles and a mug of my favourite ale were sat on a low table between us by one of the servers who quickly took his leave. It was then I noticed that the pub, which always did a brisk business no matter the time of day or night -- MI6 never slept, so neither did its pub -- was empty.

It was weird. Something was clearly going on, I just didn’t know what.

I waved off the plate of food he tried to pass me. I needed answers first. “Mal, what am I doing here? M took one look at me, pulled a few things up from my personnel file, asked if I wanted to stay on with MI6, and when I said ‘Christ, yes!’ she hummed and said, ‘You’ll do. Off you go then. Maldyn Jones wants to see you at The Hole and Corner in 30 minutes.”

“Never changes does ole, M.” Mal shook his head and smiled knowingly. He then gestured at the pub around us. “ _ This _ place will be, though. Cleared it out for a tad so you and I could have a private chat and maybe take a look around if you’re interested in what I have to say.”

“Mal!” I knew the look on my face was one that screamed ‘get to the fucking point already.’

Thankfully, he did.

“I’m retiring, Sefa. Alyce has finally talked me into moving to Belize, and The Hole and Corner will need a new publican. I’d like it to be you.”

Being sucked out of an airplane after explosive decompression wouldn’t have left me as stunned as what Maldyn had just said. Okay ... admittedly a bit of an exaggeration, but …

“Me?! Why in the hell would you want me?!”

Though I certainly knew how to pour drinks -- again, my training -- there was a big difference between mixing up some gin, vodka, and Kina Lille for a mark and taking care of the needs of the people who frequented  _ this  _ place. I knew a portion of its operating budget came from the MI6 coffers, but The Hole and Corner was ultimately a business designed to make enough of a profit to keep it largely self-sufficient, and I knew absolutely bloody  _ nothing  _ about running a pub. I told Mal as much.

He took a sip of his ale and slung his arm over the back of the sofa. “Neither did I when I first started. Was a field agent when a bullet left me with only half my right lung. Couldn’t go back into the field, but couldn’t bear to go find a job out there.” He nodded at the ‘real world’ beyond the stained glass windows of The HaC. “Fumbled around in HR for about a year -- talk about a sodding nightmare -- when Lucas Abernathy decided he was ready to finally take his pension. I was summoned here, like you were like I’m sure ole Abey was. We’re all of us former agents who couldn’t do fieldwork anymore. All the way back to the first publican, Baines Alderdice. But I knew fuck all about running a pub. Abey taught me how, and I’ll teach you, Sefa. Alyce and I aren’t shipping out until after the first of the year, and that’ll give us eight months for you to learn the ins and outs of this place.”

“But why me?! I’m broken! I can barely walk. Have only half a hand--” Had my voice ever been so genuinely desperate before? Far more was spilling out than my confusion over his offer. Had one of the shrinks from psych been here, they’d have eaten this shite up. I just didn’t understand. There were others who were--

“Because you  _ listen _ , Sefa,” Mal said with a smile. He reached out to clasp my crippled hand and my remaining fingers curled about his. “You always have. You hear not just the words but the intent and the meaning and emotions behind them. That’s what made you an exceptional agent in the field, and it’s what will make you the perfect publican for The Hole and Corner. Eighty percent of this job is being there to listen.” 

Mal passed me the plate I had refused earlier, and I took it in my shaking hands. “Eat. We’ll chat a bit and then if you like, I’ll show you things behind the scenes. No pressure, just a tour not many get to see.” He popped a feta-filled pepper into his mouth and crossed his leg over his knee. “So how ‘bout that Scotland-New Zealand match the other night.”

We spent the next hour talking … and listening to one another.

“I hate it when you steal away in the middle of the night.” A pair of arms wrapped around me from behind. I felt her raise up on the balls of her feet so she could drop nipping kisses to the nape of my neck and behind my ear. I groaned with pleasure and felt her smile against the shell of my ear. She knew all my weak spots. I covered her arms with mine and nestled back against her, allowing her warmth to help ward off the chill of the early spring night. 

“Could hear you thinking from the bedroom.” She propped her chin atop my shoulder.

This wasn’t the first night I’d sought refuge in our small garden in an attempt to settle my mind. It wouldn’t be the last. She knew it. Just as I knew she would always come to find me.

“And what am I thinking?” I asked into the night air.

“That Mal can’t be right in the head if he wants you as his successor. That you’re too physically and emotionally broken to do the job. That you’re afraid of letting the legacy down. Of letting the patrons down.”

Fuck she knew me too well.

She spun me around in her arms and looked up at me, big green eyes warm with love. Her fingers trailed down the scar on my face that now made me so distinctive and pressed a kiss atop the worst of it near the corner of my eye.

“Why did you join the Service?”

Oddly enough, I don’t think she had ever asked me that question before. “Because a hot ginger chatted me up in front of the British Museum,” I deflected.

She punched me in the stomach. I grunted and rubbed the spot. Definitely not as gentle as her kisses. “Probably the same reason as most,” I admitted. “Wanted to do  _ something _ . My coursework and internships … the things I saw developing off home soil. Knew I’d never make a difference as an academic or an attorney. Not by a long chalk. It wasn’t going to be enough to stem the tide.”

“And you learned that it’s not about stemming the tide so much as it is putting a finger in the dike and knowing full well another leak is going to spring just out of reach.”

She’d always had a way with metaphor.

“So this is just another leak I have to try to plug?”

“Well … let me ask you this. What is The Hole and Corner?”

“A pub.”

She punched me again. Christ, she had pointy knuckles. “Try again. Think about it. What is The Hole and Corner to  _ you _ ?”

I thought of the countless times I’d visited the pub over the years, and tried to pull those experiences into words to answer her question. “A place where we can let our guard down as agents and be ourselves as people. Don’t have to watch our backs or wonder who might be listening. Knowing we’re protected. Won’t be judged. It’s … safe. A safe place.” 

“Who makes it that way?”

“Mal and his personnel.” The entire staff held DV security clearance since they were, in essence, the secret keepers to the secret keepers, but they were as friendly and accommodating as could be. Few places in London could lay claim to such a welcoming atmosphere. 

“Would you say they make a difference?”

Oh.

“Yes, ‘Oh’.” She was a bloody mind-reader, too. Part of what made her so good at interrogation. Damn it all. “I’m not telling you anything you didn’t already know, though, love. You’d made your decision before you said your goodbyes to Maldyn this afternoon. Just needed the right poke to realise it.”

She was right, of course. “And you were the one to give it to me.”

“Well, I happen to know you’re into that sort of thing,” she laughed suggestively, easing the tension that lingered within me still further. 

“We’ll have to move.” There was a flat on the top storey of The Hole and Corner set aside for the publican so he -- I would be the first she -- could always be close to hand if needed. Much like a field agent, the publican was always on call. 

“Leave this place?!” she growled with an exaggerated roll of her eyes and a grand gesture at our flat. “Take me from sodding Uxbridge to the centre of London in a prime location where we don’t have to pay a landlord?! How could you possibly ask that of me?!”

“Shut it you!” And I kissed her, long and lingering. “I love you, Fiadh,” I said against her mouth when we finally parted. My rock. Always.

She smiled and caressed my face. “And I love you, Sefa ... the Publican.”  
  
  
  
  


* * *

  



End file.
